


wanna take this nice and slow

by allyasavestheday



Series: les mis tumblr prompts [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 16:28:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14719608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allyasavestheday/pseuds/allyasavestheday
Summary: “What is so funny?” Combeferre asks eventually, when Courfeyrac shows no sign of calming. His hands are running slow, absent patterns up and down Courfeyrac’s back, and it’s so familiar that he snorts out a panicked laugh.“It’s just—“ Courfeyrac gasps, “So fucking stupid.”The hands still, and it takes a moment for Combeferre to say, “What is?”The humor is gone from Combeferre’s voice, and Courfeyrac sobers, pulling away.





	wanna take this nice and slow

**Author's Note:**

> TODAYSGONEBI SAID: I adore your writing and if you're still accepting prompts requests, courferre #2?
> 
> #2 we were dancing but all of a sudden it’s a slow song and we’re standing here awkwardly staring at each other
> 
> originally posted to [tumblr](http://g-taire.tumblr.com/post/148432653723/i-adore-your-writing-and-if-youre-still-accepting)
> 
> title comes from sanchez' "nice and slow" as bemoaned by courfeyrac

The last beats of Ke$ha’s ‘Cannibal’ fade into something slower, and Courfeyrac curses the DJ for having no sense of rhythm, timing, or general understanding of people’s mood. Here he is, having a great time bopping and grinding to the music, and there they go, turning on fucking RnB ballads.

(Courfeyrac _loves_ RnB ballads, sings them mournfully in the shower on days after  _certain people_ have been  _too cute to handle_ and-- well. But right now, when he’s trying to have  _fun_  at the club with his very platonic, completely non-romantic, nothing else there  _friends_ …)

Combeferre must feel the energy drain out of Courfeyrac, because he slows to a stop, and suddenly they’re the only ones in the mass of bodies not moving, or pulling closer together. 

Over Combeferre’s shoulder, Courfeyrac can see Bossuet and Musichetta, Joly between them, their bodies moving in sync with the music— but it’s not the fast, fun gyrating and jumping of before, it’s gone sensual and Courfeyrac has to look away before his eyes are burned with images he can never unsee.

The past hour has been easy, the music poppy and upbeat, everything Courfeyrac liked in his nightclubs. He could dance with his friends and he didn’t have to worry about things being weird, though with their group, perceptions of ‘weird’ were already stretched thin. More specifically, he could dance with Combeferre without any sort of implications.

But now it’s a ballad, a  _love_ song, and the only thing Courfeyrac is focusing on is how very real the lines  _“I wanna take this nice and slow”_ and “ _I’ve been waiting for this for so long_ ” are. The next lines shouldn’t make Courfeyrac blush crimson, god knows how many times he’s picked someone up in a club, but this is different.

This is Combeferre.

“You okay?” Combeferre leans down to say in his ear. The club is quieter now, without the blaring bass, but it’s still loud enough that in order to hear one another they have to be very close together. Combeferre’s breath tickles the curls near Courfeyrac’s ear.

Courfeyrac’s breathing hitches, and he swallows and nods. “Yeah, I’m fine.” When he nods, their cheeks brush, damp and sticky with exertion, and Courfeyrac can feel the fine stubble of Combeferre’s 5 o’clock shadow.

Combeferre pulls back, almost but not quite to his full height, and peers down at Courfeyrac. They’re both sweating and breathing heavily, and Courfeyrac's thighs burn from dancing, but their smiles are easy and a little liquor-blurred. Combeferre’s brows are drawn up in worry — Courfeyrac doesn’t turn down any opportunity to dance, ever, no matter the music choice — but his smile is fond and Courfeyrac’s heart does the little flutter it seems to do so often of late.

He can’t remember when they started, it’s not recent, though the frequency of late is getting a little ridiculous.

It seems Combeferre can’t do  _anything_  with Courfeyrac wanting to bury his face in his hands and let out a prolonged, anguished whine.

It’s bad enough Combeferre has a multitude of tattoos that crawl up his arms, and he’ll roll up his sleeves and Courfeyrac will see just the peaking edges of them. Or that Combeferre’s voice drops low and commanding when he argues and fuck if that doesn’t go south. It’s even worse that Courfeyrac will run into a freshly showered Combeferre, towel lose around his hips, water droplets dripping down his chest, tattoos on full display and have to deal with that image for the next couple of hours (days). (The subsequent showers that followed have been very cold, Courfeyrac could tell you, though rather a little guilty.)

No, those were all horrid, awful, absolutely adorable and frustratingly arousing instances that Courfeyrac can understand getting a lil hot and bothered about.

No, what’s the absolute worst is Courfeyrac gets to see him sleepy and mumbly in the mornings before his coffee, and he’ll pass Courfeyrac a mug without needing to ask. He sees Combeferre in his lazy tee shirts, unshaven and hair a mess and curled up on the couch watching a shitty movie on a Saturday night and just wants to crawl up and kiss his nose and his forehead and his cheek and, yes, his lips, and it’s just  _not fair_  that Courfeyrac can’t do any of those things when Combeferre is  _right there._

Someone bushes past them, and Courfeyrac starts. Combeferre doesn’t seem bothered that they’re the only ones in this massive press of bodies that isn’t moving, grinding, and getting it on.

In fact, his entire attention is focused on Courfeyrac, brown eyes steady on Courfeyrac’s face.

Enjolras’ words echo in his mind, possibly one of the few times he’s ever deigned to give relationship advice. “He’s your best friend,” Enjolras said. “Whatever happens, it’ll be okay.” He’d smiled a little at Courfeyrac’s horrified expression and said, “Neither of you are very subtle.” Courfeyrac doesn’t think he’s ever been so insulted in his life; Enjolras, offering relationship advice? And the implication that Courfeyrac, the Master of Stealth, isn’t subtle? Preposterous.

He just doesn’t want to ruin this. They’ve been friends for so long, hell, they live together. What would happen if this all went to shit? It’d be the worst. Losing his best friend would be heartbreaking enough, but losing his best friend  _and_ someone he loved romantically? Things would be awful for everyone.

But the words stick with Courfeyrac, the ‘neither’ in particular, and four days later he still couldn’t look Combeferre in the eye. Today is the first time in days they’ve been together, really  _been_ together.

_Neither of you are very subtle._ Neither.

Courfeyrac has been sneaking glances at Combeferre for years. More than once, more than a few times, almost like he’s frequently looking, he’s caught Combeferre’s eye. Sometimes one or both of them blush and look away, and other times they’ll be caught, and Courfeyrac’s animations will quiet. Combeferre makes him quiet; a steady presence, always there.

The song changes to another 90s ballad, and Courfeyrac doesn’t wince at the opening line of this one (“ _I will never find another lover sweeter than you”_ ). The tempo picks up a bit, and Courfeyrac is grateful.

Combeferre is looking at him curiously now, because they’re swaying off beat, but they’re not dancing, and they’re not talking. The fond expression is back, and Courfeyrac would feel bad for dragging Combeferre all the way out here just to not dance, but Combeferre is smiling and relaxed, and fuck, Courfeyrac wants to kiss him.

The thought warms the pit of his stomach and it makes him bold. Courfeyrac reaches out to take Combeferre’s hand, as he’s done a million times before. Both of their palms are warm and sweaty, but Courfeyrac doesn’t care.

“Courf…” Combeferre murmurs, and it’s a warning. He is blinking rapidly, as though he’s trying very hard to maintain a neutral expression, and failing. This only makes Courfeyrac grip his hand harder. If Enjolras is wrong about this…

“Combeferre,” Courfeyrac says, keeping his voice deliberate. He can do this, he’s done this a thousand times. But not with Combeferre. “Combeferre, I like you. A lot.” Combeferre makes a soft noise, but Courfeyrac presses on, the words falling from his mouth without thought.

“And this whole time, I’ve been dancing with you and having the most amazing time and I didn’t want it to stop, and then it changed to these horrid 90s ballads that I  _love_ , but I hate them because all they make me want to do is kiss you—“

“May I kiss you?”

“I—“ Courfeyrac is startled into silence. “Yes, of course,  _please_.”

Relief slackens Combeferre’s face into a smile, and he closes the distance between them, one slender hand coming up to cup Courfeyrac’s face. Courfeyrac surges up on his toes to meet him, and their noses bump and Combeferre’s teeth smack Courfeyrac’s bottom lip, but they realign themselves with a giggle, their mouths sliding against each other’s with relative ease.

Courfeyrac has kissed many people, and he knows Combeferre has his own experience, not that Courfeyrac has dwelled on that, at all. But he isn’t prepared for this.

It’s not a life changing kiss. It’s a wonderful kiss. It’s a kiss Courfeyrac wants to repeat a thousand times over, and learn the way Combeferre’s lips move against his own.

He darts his tongue out, timid in a way he isn’t usually, and Combeferre sighs into his mouth, deepening the kiss. Combeferre drops Courfeyrac’s hand to bring it up to join the other cupping his face, and Courfeyrac tugs at Combeferre’s tee shirt, sliding his hands under and along the sweat slick skin there. Combeferre shivers at that, despite the heat, and Courfeyrac smiles, is overcome with the reality of the situation.

It feels natural. It feels right. Like they should have been doing this all along, and everything else they’ve done has led up to the revelation that they could do  _this_.

All of a sudden, he is giggling again, clutching Combeferre’s tee shirt in his fists, pulling away to gasp in breaths. Combeferre’s hands fall away from his face, and Courfeyrac drops his head against Combeferre’s chest, shaking with laugher.

“What is so funny?” Combeferre asks eventually, when Courfeyrac shows no sign of calming. His hands are running slow, absent patters up and down Courfeyrac’s back, and it’s so familiar that he snorts out a panicked laugh.

“It’s just—“ Courfeyrac gasps, “So  _fucking stupid_.”

The hands still, and it takes a moment for Combeferre to say, “What is?”

The humor is gone from Combeferre’s voice, and Courfeyrac sobers, pulling away. Combeferre’s face has gone blank again, and Courfeyrac reaches up to poke one finger into the corner of his mouth, pushing it up. Combeferre doesn’t smile, and he doesn’t break eye contact. His eyes have gone hard, and Courfeyrac recognizes fear in the way he leans back. His heart clenches, and he rushes to fix it. 

“This,” Courfeyrac says, gesturing between them. When he sees the shutters closing behind Combeferre’s expression, he adds, “Do you know how long we could have been sucking face? So long. I’ve liked you for actually ages, I think I’ve grown old working up the courage to ask you out.”

Combeferre blinks at him, and then says, “’Sucking face?’”

“That’s what you got out of that?” Courfeyrac demands, indignant. “Not that I’ve liked you for ages, not that we’ve wasted so much time, you’re picking on my word choice?”

The hands on Courfeyrac’s back have moved to his hips, and yes, that’s something new he can definitely get used to. “It was a pretty horrific idiomatic choice.”

Courfeyrac makes a face, “Oh god, I’m in love with a nerd.” He almost doesn’t realize what he’s said, he’s thought it so many times but Combeferre is staring at him, mouth agape, and decides he doesn’t care. He shrugs. “I meant it.” And for good measure, “Nerd.”

Laughing, Combeferre relaxes and leans down. Courfeyrac turns his face up expectantly, eyes already closing, when Combeferre doesn’t meet his lips. Opening his eyes, he finds Combeferre very close, smirking down at Courfeyrac. “Your nerd,” he says, before closing the distance.

They’ve barely managed a few seconds of kissing before Courfeyrac is pulling away again, laughing. Combeferre makes an annoyed noise. “No, I was wrong.” Courfeyrac says. “I’m in love with a  _cheesy_  nerd.”

“But you are in love with me,” Combeferre confirms, though there’s still the hint of uncertainty, despite Courfeyrac having said it twice already. He doesn’t mind repeating himself.

“Yes, I am,” he says.

“Good,” Combeferre says, and leans down again, and says, “I love you too.”  

“Oh, thank god.” This time, when they kiss, it’s proper, no pulling away to giggle (though Courfeyrac is sure it’ll happen again. He looks forward to it.) He smiles into the kiss, a little more teeth than lip for a moment, and feels centered. Just for a moment, his whole world is narrowed to this club, the RnB, and Combeferre, and he couldn’t be happier. 

~~What a cheesy pair of fuckers they make.~~

**Author's Note:**

> still gotta find my bearings when it comes to writing this pairing.
> 
> Kudos/comments/critique are greatly appreciated :) 
> 
> I'm on tumblr at [girlionceknew](http://girlionceknew.tumblr.com) and [g-taire](http://g-taire.tumblr.com). Come say hi!


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